


Soggy Frosted Flakes

by galacticberries



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, Whump, how is that not a tag you are all cowards, romance chefs kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticberries/pseuds/galacticberries
Summary: Redemption is hard, even when you know you need it. It's even harder when you don't.Virgil is never going to forgive Roman for that realization.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 81





	Soggy Frosted Flakes

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed as always by my piece of shit brother, who i love- @dirkygoodness
> 
> janus gets bullied in this one lads, not in the text but metaphysically. janus stans may want to skip.

Anytime Remus did anything it was hard to look at, but right now? Well, it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. It was horrific but Virgil couldn't tear his eyes away.

Sure, he wasn't Princey's biggest fan but—

_There was another sickening thunk of Remus' mace while shrill, manic laughter filled the air._

But he didn't deserve that.

Virgil felt a chill go down his spin as the overpowering smell of iron suddenly flooded his senses. He should be used to it by now, he thinks distantly. He's been around the freak long enough to know what to expect. Well, maybe that's exactly the issue. Maybe it’s precisely because Virgil knows what's coming that it's so much harder to be around him. 

Then again, maybe it's just different when it's someone Virgil knows, and not a figment of Remus' twisted mind. Maybe right now it's because Princey’s normally eye-burning, bleach white suit is getting stained a searing, dark-red. Maybe it's because it's Princey in the first place that he's having such a hard time doing anything other than standing still.

He doesn't like him, he doesn't. But Princey always seemed so -- so confident that Virgil couldn't help but admire all the gusto to an extent. Roman was always so sure of himself. Hell, he had the gall to call himself royalty and dressed like a prince for Peet's sake. He wasn't exactly lacking assurance here. 

But it was more than that, he seemed to almost radiate this light. He was so full of inspiration, creativity, and yeah -- himself too. But he genuinely cared about the others, in his own way. Even if he was a jerk to Virgil every chance he got, he at least stood up for what he believed in and he defended his friends with a passion to rival another overzealous, caring idiot Virgil knew. 

He actually fought for his values and didn't let injustice stand, or whatever. So seeing him more or less roll over like a dog was -- well, disconcerting. Normally he'd fight back. Which is more than Virgil can say for himself right about now. 

His fingers curled into the pocket of his jacket as he felt himself subconsciously take a step back; a mostly needless precaution seeing as Remus never even tried to lay his hands on him. But still. There was some level of… _discomfort_ to be felt around him, and Virgil wasn't one for unnecessary risks anyway.

Maybe that's how he'd justify it to himself when he explained why he didn't do anything. Why he just stood by. He'll say to his reflection, "It wasn't my place". "I barely know him". "It's just how Remus is". 

Those excuses would be a lot more effective if they weren't being drowned out by Princey's guttural screams. Virgil flinches again, grasping the edges of his jacket for moral support. He should stop this. This is -- this is _wrong._

Another scream, and a low groan. Princey starts to pull himself away, but it doesn't look like he gets very far -- though all Virgil can really see is Remus' back. Remus gives a cackle in response, kicks Princey over, sends the mace down and -- _oh god._

Where was everyone else? Where were Princey's actual friends? This was definitely more in their wheelhouse than his.

_He should do something_. 

But what would he even do? Remus could just as easily turn that rage -- or, or whatever it is onto Virgil. He couldn't stop it, even if it was his place. But again, he barely knows the guy. 

Well, he knows him well enough to know this isn't normal even for Remus' skewed standards of the word. It's never been this bad before — at least he's never done this that Virgil's seen. And Remus has pulled this act on Princey more times to count. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about how awful Princey can be, how full of himself; anything to remind himself of why he hung out with these psychos in the first place.

But then he caught Roman's eye, briefly and just for a split second. Not even long enough to get a good look at him, to even really tell what damage had been done. But long enough that he saw Roman, lying there scared and desperate and so, so unlike the Princey that Virgil had come to know in their albeit brief meetings that Virgil thinks he's gonna be sick. 

Remus leans back on one leg and for one shining moment, Virgil thinks, "Okay, this is it. He's done, it's over." 

Of course it's not that easy.

"You're a lot more fun when you fight back, ya know." Remus sighs, resting his empty hand on his hip. 

Princey roles himself onto his back, glaring up. "You think this," He takes a moment, struggling to breathe, "is _fun_?"

"No duh."

Roman slowly starts pushing himself up, he even manages to get a knee underneath himself before Remus kicks him down again.

"What, do you not?" Remus gives another smile, foot slipping just slightly into the ever growing puddle of Princey's blood leaving sticky remnants as he walks. "And here I thought you enjoyed my company."

He swings the mace around, tossing it from hand to hand. With each throw he drops it ever closer to Princey's face, pretending to almost drop every time.

That's when it hits Virgil, he's just _messing_ with him. All of this, it's just a game. A sick, messed up way to pass the time.

To Princey's credit he hardly flinches, just looks him in the eye. He doesn't give Remus what he wants. 

"How long before you get tired of this?" Roman does his best to keep his voice from shaking but Virgil doubts it's as successful as he wanted. "How long before not even this is what you want?"

Remus opens his mouth before closing it, as if considering his options, looking down at him with owlish eyes.

Virgil thinks now would be a perfect time to distract him, to get him away from Princey but he's not sure that he could handle Remus being near himself right now.

After a minute, he simply picks his mace back up and brings it down in lieu of a response.

Another nauseating crack and Virgil feels his leg jerk forward, "Wait--"

"Remus!" 

Oh thank god.

It's Logan, showing up like an absolute Deus ex Machina saving the day and effectively cutting Virgil off — which would usually be annoying but all he could feel is relief.

Remus leaned back, letting out a long groan. "Oh great, here comes the fun police." He gives a flick of his wrist, getting rid of his mace as he steps away from Princey

"Roman!" And right behind Logan is Patton, just as overly soft as ever. "Are you okay?" 

They both run over to where Princey is laying flat on the ground and move to help him up. And Remus just… let's them. All he does is glare at them and repeat everything they say in a squeaky voice but other than that he just looks at stands back and stares. He really makes no sense. Or maybe what Princey said actually got to him, or even got through to him. Then again, Virgil isn't dumb enough to delude himself. He knows all too well that Remus is never going to stop but… maybe he'll slow down. It's something to consider, at the very least. 

Of course, Remus doesn't seem to bother Logan. He never does; somehow he seems unaffected by anything Remus does so Logan barely gives him the time of day before he starts to get Princey in a kneeling position. It's a laborious process, Princey letting out a string of expletives as they do but eventually Logan and Patton each get an arm over their shoulders and begin to head out.

As they walk away Patton sends one small glance over his shoulder, catching Virgil's eye and —

And he looks so _upset_. So disappointed. There are a million things said in mere seconds but to Virgil it feels like a lifetime. A millennia of accusations and regret.

Virgil looks away, glaring at the floor below him instead. Anything to try and stop feeling so, so off. 

"Well emo," Remus is coming closer to him, and, dear god, he has blood on his boots. "What should we do now?" 

Virgil takes a step back, unable to look away from where he has _blood on his shoes_. He wants to spit out a harsh, "I'm never doing anything with you again." A quick, snappy retort; "Leave me alone, freak." Anything to get Remus as far away from him as quick as humanly possible, but Virgil can't find the words and he can't stop staring at the blood. There's so much blood.

"Ah, there you two are." 

Oh, for _fucks_ sake.

Deceit saunters, _actually saunters_ , closer and turns to Remus; "Ah, I see you've been… _busy_."

Remus gives a shrug and throws an arm over Deceit's shoulder. "So, who's up for a movie night?" He moves to pull Virgil closer and — and he has blood on his hand too.

The smell of iron is suddenly as strong as it was before and he can't help it as he jerks away. They both look confused, Deceit more irritated than anything. He shoots him a raised eyebrow, a silent question.

Virgil swallows, "I'll pass. See you later."

He turns around and -- and he sees them. They apparently haven't left yet, which he guess makes sense since Princey seems to be greatly favoring his right side. It looks like Patton is supporting most of his weight, but maybe that's just because Princey's head is lolling against his shoulder. Small puddles of blood pools behind them, smeared with various shoe prints. 

God. Virgil feels like he's gonna be sick.

"Anxiety, you aren't really going to stand there all day, are you?" Jesus, why can he mind his own business for once? Deceit is so unbearably smug. 

Yeah. Maybe Virgil is, who would stop him? Virgil groans before he shoots back a quick, "I'm going to my room." 

And with that, he sinks out before either of them can say anything. 

—

Virgil was pacing. Had been for ten minutes or so actually. And sure! Maybe that wasn't the _best_ use of his time but he had a lot going on. And it wasn't his job to be productive, okay! It was his job to protect and he's trying to figure out how to do that. So, maybe he was being productive after all, checkmate.

Then again, being productive requires he actually figured out what to do. Which he hasn't, all he's done is come up with two impossible answers. 

  1. Directly stop Remus
  2. Run away



He can't just _stop_ Remus, the psycho doesn't listen to anyone. Not even Deceit and certainly not Virgil. And it's not like running away is even a real option. So there's solidly nothing Virgil can do, even if he wanted to!

And he doesn't, by the way. It's not Virgil's problem, alright. It's Princey's. They're brothers, it's his issue. He has to figure it out and yeah, it — _There was another sickening thunk of Remus' mace_ — sucks but that's all it is. It's just another sucky situation.

What's Virgil's supposed to do? He's not the hero. That was Princey's whole gimmick, after all. He should have to figure out his wacko brother problem. It's not — _Princey starts to pull away, he doesn't get far_ — Virgil's responsibility. 

He doesn't even care! He doesn't care about how _Princey seems to be favoring his right side_ . It's not his fault that _Princey's head is lolling against Patton's shoulder._ And it's wildly unfair that he can't stop thinking about _the puddles of blood that pool behind them._

Virgil let's out a small, muffled cry into his hands before running his fingers through his hair.

He shouldn't care about that idiot this much! 

Is his leg broken? If it was, could they even fix that? It's just, it was a lot of blood.

He shouldn't be worried about that pompous jerk. He was nothing but mean to Virgil but- but he didn't deserve that.

His inner monologue used to mean more when his head wasn't playing, "Princey screaming for it to stop: 10 hour remix".

God, this _sucked_. He needed a break — no scratch that.

He needed a distraction.

—

Their living room was about as boring as the other sides', if a little more lifeless. 

Virgil had only been to the ‘ _light sides_ ’ room a couple times (what an arrogant name, of course Princey came up with it — no nope. Not thinking about him), and it was wildly brief so he didn't have much time to look around. What he did notice was that everything was in the same place as their own rooms, down to the pictures on the wall.

Virgil sighed. 

If anything, the only difference was where the others house seemed to be filled with this warmth, while theirs had almost been drained of everything — even color. Everything homey about their own rooms came from the small elements of personal decorations, which the living room and kitchen was sorely lacking in. 

Speaking of which, Deceit and Remus happened to be sitting at the kitchen table. Playing cards by the looks of it, though what game Virgil couldn't tell. He gave another sigh, pulled up his hood and made his way to the couch. 

He had honestly hoped to avoid them, he figured they'd be in one of their rooms; not down here. They almost never had a movie night in the living room, probably because Virgil threw a fit every time they even tried to. Granted, it didn't look like they were watching much of anything.

Whatever, it's not his fault both their tastes in movies left literally everything to be desired. 

"Oh, Anxiety!" Deceit's voice was sickly sweet as he spoke, "I was totally hoping you'd show up after you so kindly ditched us. Not a dick move _at all_." 

Virgil flopped down on the couch, suppressing a sigh as he landed on the cushions. "I didn't ditch you. I just don't want to be around when you watch those 'movies', alright?" He pulled his hood up farther, hoping to disencourage any further attempts at conversation. He leaned forward, reaching for the TV remote.

As he did, he could feel Deceit's eyes bore into the back of his head. Virgil fought back a shiver as a chill went up his spine.

"Is your problem really just our taste in cinema, Anxiety?" A pause, for dramatic effect or for something Virgil couldn't place -- it was hard to say. "Or is this about something else?"

Virgil let out a low growl, yanking the remote up harder than necessary and briefly considering launching it into Deceit's face. 

He mind flashed images of red seeping into a pristine white uniform and throwing stars as the sound of laughter rang in his ears.

He sank back slowly, swallowing around the lump in his throat and securely holding the remote to his chest.

Deceit gave a far too loud sigh, "Your always free to join us--"

"No." Virgil turned on his distraction, hoping Deceit would take the freaking hint already.

Another over-the-top sigh, accompanied with Deceit saying, not quite under his breath, " _Love_ hanging out with you, Anxiety. Always a blast."

Virgil pulled his hoodie strings tighter and tried to get lost in the mindless reality show that had been on the first channel when the TV was flicked on. Normally he wasn't one for this kind of show, found everything too staged but it had been what was on and he was far too lazy to change the channel at this point.

It was one of those lame ghost shows, with the slightly-too-loud, corny narration that began every commercial break with some dumb one liner like -- "But things were only going to get worse from there."

He considered changing the channel again but it had been playing for a little while now and if he tried he's sure Deceit would notice, and he really wasn't in the mood for unwanted attention. 

Virgil gave a slight shake of his head and turned his focus back to the show. He had missed the first half but apparently the Dad playing the piano in the middle of the night wasn't something he normally did. Naturally the only conclusion was possession. 

He rolled his eyes, and tried not to get too annoyed with the shotty plot and cringy dialogue. Sure, Virgil liked ghost stories, and horror was easily his favorite genre. He could even enjoy the campiness of the whole ridiculous set up, he just didn't like the lying.

Remus' voice suddenly cut through the idoitic narration, "Ugh, I'm bored!".

"Remus, we've hardly begun." Deceit spoke up, voice tight with irritation. "At least let me finish--" 

"Nope." 

"Re--"

There was a bang on the table, combined with Remus saying in an obnoxiously-whiny tone, "You said we could watch something."

"Yes, but Deceit is literally my name." There was the sound of a chair squeaking under strain, probably due to Deceit leaning back too far. 

"Uh huh. Yep."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Alright, let's go!" 

There were more bangs, some protest by Deceit and Virgil really couldn't think of a real justification not to turn around.

It was hard not to laugh at what he saw.

Remus seemed to be dragging Deceit in the direction of his room, all with Deceit protesting. Loudly at that. "No-- Stop! We are not watching the Human Centipede again! I'm not doing it-- Anxiety! Help!"

Virgil smirked and gave a small wave as he watched him get dragged off. 

Virgil gave a contented sigh and leaned back, only to realize the room was a lot quieter without their blabbering. 

Huh. 

Virgil just shook his head; it’s still better than being around those two.

Only without the extra noise, it was a lot harder to lose himself. 

He glared at the screen, almost in an act of defiance. He didn't need those idiots to be comfortable, in fact he should be happy now that they're gone but the emptiness of the room is making his skin crawl. 

On the screen, a man falls down a flight of stairs, breaking his leg. He wonders if Princey really did break that leg, it didn't look like he was putting any weight on it at all--

Hungry. Virgil is hungry.

He launches up and makes his way towards the kitchen, shaking his hands as he walks over there. He grabs the milk out of the fridge and reaches up to pull a box of cereal and a bowl down from the cabinets. 

Once he has his food, he starts to head back over to the couch when something catches his eye. It's the card game Deceit and Remus were playing. The cards are laid out in an almost horizontal pyramid formation, laying parallel to where Deceit was seated. Well, it doesn't look much like a game and more like a tarot reading, though the cards look -- off. They certainly don't look like a regular tarot deck. 

Virgil let's out a small ' _Hmm_ ' before setting down his bowl of cereal on the counter and walking over to the table. Yep, sure enough the cards are definitely a Tarot deck, and a custom one by the looks of it. On closer inspection they seem to be each other, all of the sides on corresponding cards. Virgil grimaces at that, something about their faces being plastered on these cards rubs him the wrong way. 

His eyes quickly scan the table, he doesn't see his own face on the cards that are out at least. Small victories. However, Deceit's own face smiles up at him. His card is the first one in the row of three, facing down. He reaches forward and grabs it. " _The Magician_ " the card reads in familiar, loopy writing. He groans, dropping it back down onto the table. 

He gives another quick glance and notices another card that catches his eye, between the second and fourth row.

Princey.

There's a tight, twisting feeling in his stomach as he picks this one up from where it was laying, upside-down as well. " _The Fool_ " it reads, in the same font. Virgil feels like he's gonna be sick. It's so -- so wrong to just play cards with the face of a guy you watched get beat to a pulp less than an hour ago on them. How messed up are they? God. They're terrible.

Then again -- Virgil supposes -- he's not much better, is he?

He looks back at the card in his hand, The Fool, huh? Setting the card down, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He quickly types into the search bar and clicks on the first result.

The pit in his stomach only grows deeper. 

Virgil doesn't bother reading much, too stuck in his first result. 

"Taken advantage of." 

How can Deceit be so self aware to know he's taken advantage of Roman but selfish enough to not care?

How can Virgil watch him be hurt but just stand by? 

He briefly wonders if there's a coward in the deck and thinks his face deserves to be on that one. He sets the card down, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. Virgil would rather turn away than do anything to help him, and he would rather hide in his room then make sure he's okay. What if he died? Can they do that? Can sides die? 

As far as he knows Roman is the only one to get hurt so maybe- maybe he could die?

What if he already has? 

Virgil groans, shaking his head. He can't do this anymore, Virgil just needs to make sure he's okay. That's all he's gonna do, he'll go over there, ask Patton or somebody, and then come back. It'll take fifteen minutes tops. 

That's it.

-

Their living room was exactly like he remembered it — bright, warm, and welcoming.

He shivered.

Virgil didn't come over here all that often, and when he did those visits were exceedingly short lived. Not to mention, the... _others_ , namely one annoying prince, were usually around. The only times he came over, he was yelled at. Sometimes he did the yelling himself, it all depends on the day. It seems like a violation of trust almost to be here without them — him — around.

Virgil takes a moment to access his surroundings, everything looks just like it always did. He slowly moves forward, looking closer at the room. The pillows on the couch look lumpy and well-used, to put it kindly, and the remote isn't in it's normal place, it's laying on the middle cushion. At the end of the couch, a blanket is bunched up into the corner. Next to it there's a book laying face down. All in all, he'd say the room feels — well, lived in. It feels like an actual living room, like they spend time here together and not up in their rooms all day.

Virgil swallows, and feels a pang of -- of something before he quickly dismisses it. He's been feeling off since this afternoon.

He walks over and picks up the book from its resting place, " _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare"_ the cover reads.

Huh. 

Virgil opens to the page it was last on, and gives a quick cursory glance — 

" _CLAUDIUS:_

_O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;_

_It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,_

_A brother's murder._ ”

Virgil shrugs, seems like something a nerd like Logan or someone would read. Whatever, not his business. 

"Oh!" 

Virgil's head whips around at the sudden sound, grip tightening on the book, "I was just looking for that, thanks for saving me the trouble of finding it!"

Virgil just stares back at Patton, like a deer in the headlights. Patton simply smiles in return and gives a small wave, "Sorry for startling you there, kiddo! I just need that book." He points at it in Virgil's hand, just in case he hadn't caught on to what was being said.

Virgil reaches over to hand it to him, rubbing his free hand on his jeans. His hands are suddenly damp and clammy — his heart beating way too fast in his chest for it to be exactly comfortable. He swallows down his onset nausea; he can't accurately explain why, but Virgil feels like he's just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

He should go, this was a dumb idea he never should have come, god, this was so stupid. He was stupid. God, he was sneaking around and now everyone was gonna know and-

"So what brings you around these parts?" Patton is smiling again and Virgil realizes just then that he hasn't actually said anything. 

"Oh, uh--" Well if he's here, he might as well get on with it. He clears his throat before continuing, "I actually came to talk to you."

"Oh?" Patton moves, making his way towards the kitchen. Virgil pauses, not really sure what to do but decides to follow. He actually did come to talk to Patton after all. 

"Yeah."

Patton sets the book down on the table before grabbing a box of Saltines out of the cabinets. Then he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a can of Sprite. Patton looks at the can for a moment before he puts it back in the fridge and reaches for the tea pot and starts filling it up with water. 

"What are you doing?" Virgil stands at the threshold between the two rooms, trying to decide what to do with his hands before he shoves them into his pockets.

Patton looks up from the stove and smiles, "I'm making a care package for Roman, he said he wasn't feeling up for soup so this is my compromise." He gestures to the tea pot.

Virgil's glances back at the table, "And the book?" He moves farther forward, leaning on the counter.

"Roman's." Patton shrugs, "He wanted me to grab it for him." 

Virgil snorts, "He can read?"

Instantly, Virgil knows he's said the wrong thing. Patton gives him this -- this _look_. A look that's hard to place. Judgmental? Angry or disappointed? Whatever it is, it's enough to make Virgil's face heat up. He glares at the floor. Smooth. Nice going, genius. 

Virgil shakes his head, he was here to ask about Princey, not insult him.

"Can you hand me a mug behind you, please?" Virgil nods, but doesn't meet his eyes. He sounds fine but- but Patton is hard to read for the most part. No one can be that happy all the time. 

He turns around, opens the cabinet and it's about what he expects but he's somehow still surprised by what he sees. 

In there, there is a set of four black mugs (one of which is chipped at the top), a smaller light blue one, one that looks like a failed arts and crafts project with googly eyes and glitter, and a mug that is covered in bright yellow stars- differing in sizes. It has a bright yellow handle to match, as well.

There's a word to describe it but he can't seem to articulate it right. " _Lived in._ " his brain supplies, and he can't argue with it.

He grabs the starry one and hands it to Patton. 

"Hey! Nice choice!" Virgil flinches at his sudden enthusiasm over tableware, "I got Roman this one for his birthday."

Right. Princey. 

Virgil sucks in a breath: he came here for a reason. 

"About Princey, is -- is he alright?" There's a lasp of silence that weighs on Virgil in a way that's hard to verbalize. He turns to Patton, hoping he didn't offend.

"Oh." Patton looks shocked, to say the least. 

Virgil fights the heat rising in his face, and shrinks further into his jacket — "What's that supposed to mean?"

Patton smiles again, "I just think it's really good that you actually care!"

Something must show on Virgil's face because Patton instantly back tracks, tripping over his words, "That's not to say you didn't care before! I just meant -- it's just you and Roman always fight and--"

"It's fine." Virgil rolls his eyes, it’s what he should have expected. This place couldn't be as great as it seemed, the grass is greener and all that. "Look, I just wanted to know if he's kicked the bucket or not, no need to be weird about it."

Patton looks at him with the huge puppy eyes, "No, no it's not fine. That was a really mean thing to say, I'm sorry." 

Something inside Virgil twists at that, he — he wasn't expecting that. It -- what's he supposed to say in response? He hands twist painfully in his pockets and he can't take his eyes off Patton's face, searching for any kind of sign, any hint as to the actual meaning behind his words. But the longer he looks, the more he just sees sincerity. It gives him goosebumps.

He scrubs at his neck, feeling uncomfortably warm. He turns his head downwards, "It really is okay, Patton. I, uh, know you didn't mean it like that." He pauses, before looking back at him, "Is the idiot okay or not?" 

Patton's face evens out from harsh worry to this horrible mix of reserved concern and out-right despair. It scares Virgil a little, because what if he's not alright? Patton turns to lean against the counter with Virgil, letting out a sigh.

"Physically? He's been better but he'll be okay."

Virgil lets that sink in, knowing that's what he came for but he can't find it in himself to leave just yet. He looks at the mug in front of him with the silly stars all over it. He knows he doesn't know Princey that well, but it seems like the exact kind of thing he would go for. 

"And emotionally?"

Patton's quiet for a moment — and for a second Virgil wonders if he said the wrong thing again — before Patton speaks, softer than before, "I don't really know… He never lets me."

There's something heartbreaking about hearing Patton sound so unbelievably beaten, and so horribly sad.

"Roman is so strong, you know? And he's so, _so_ brave but I know him. I know he's struggling with this whole Remus deal — I just wish he'd let me help him. He's spent his entire life being compared to his brother, I think somewhere along the way he started doing it too. He's so concerned about appearances, and making sure people know he's enough, I think he forgets he actually is." Patton's voice shakes, just slightly "I -- I want to be there for him. I just want to remind him how _good_ he actually is."

He wants to say, " _Then say that to him._ " but it feels like such a horrendously simple answer to such a stupefyingly complex problem. There's something about this, this quiet honesty that makes Virgil want to help. He reaches out to comfort Patton, but his hand stops short — and pulls away. 

He's not sure what he would do even if he had the guts to do it. Guess that's a trend lately.

Patton lets out a little laugh, turning away as he briefly rubs at his eyes. "Gosh, sorry about that."

Virgil stands there, feeling just as helpless as before but for a completely different reason. He wants to reach out, wants to run, wants someone more equipped to be here, wants to yell at someone. He rubs his hand on his jeans. There seems to be a lot of things he wants to do.

"You're fine, Patton."

Patton faces him again, and gives him a small smile. It doesn't reach his eyes. 

"Excuse me." He says, giving Virgil time to move before reaching behind him to grab a box of tea. Virgil can't help the smile that crosses his face at the sight of the logo. Of course they have Sleepy Time.

"Do you want a cup?" 

Virgil gives a shake of his head, and Patton nods in response, "Alright, could you hand one for me then?" 

Virgil nods, unable to find his voice at Patton's unusual subdued behavior, and turns to grab a mug. He reaches for the light blue one, and isn't surprised when he sees the small brown dog head on the front. Sounds 'bout right.

He hands the mug off to Patton, "Hey, this is the one Roman got for me in return." His smile is back, and seems more genuine. "Guess you're just that good at guessing, huh?" 

Virgil shrugs, "It wasn't hard."

They lasp back into silence, and it's tempting to let it go on for Patton's sake but it's almost suffocating to Virgil. It makes his skin crawl and inch, makes him cold and hot all at the same time. He hates it, he hates thinking about what could be running throughout Patton's head. What thoughts bounce around until they come back negative, all directed at Virgil. 

He clenches and unclenches his fist several times in his pockets, trying to keep from breaking the peace but he feels so much like he did an hour ago that he's not sure he can take it. 

"I keep thinking about earlier today, about Prin--" he pauses, the nickname half-formed on his tongue. "Roman." He finishes, the word falling heavy from his lips. It occurs to him that he's never called Roman by his actual name out loud before this. It feels… wrong. Like he's taking something that doesn't belong to him, but right in a different way. Personal.

"Yeah?" Patton asks, sympathetically.

"Yeah. I keep thinking about the whole," Virgil waves his hand, trying to think of a word to describe it, "experience, to be honest."

He's not really sure why he's telling Patton this, but it just feels right to repay his honesty with some of Virgil's own.

"I do think it's really good, I think it's good that you're thinking about him." Patton puts a tea bag in each cup, and puts the box back on the shelf. "You should tell him this yourself."

Virgil can't help but feel a little affronted by that because, uh, excuse him? He raises an eyebrow at Patton, "I don't think he'd appreciate the visit." 

"You'd be surprised."

Virgil stares at him again, and tries to get an idea as to what his game is but he can't figure it out. Maybe because there isn't one to find. 

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Patton, why did you look back?" 

Patton's head swivels, and meets Virgil's gaze. "What?"

"After you came and got Roman, why--" Virgil struggles with the words, but he needs an answer. Even if it's bad. "Why did you look back?"

"Because," He begins, "You looked just as scared as Roman."

Oh.

_Oh._

Concern.

This whole — Virgil feels like the world has been tilted on its axis, like all the air has been knocked out of him — this whole time it was concern.

Patton was worried about _him_. Virgil just might actually throw up this time.

He thinks he should say something in response, but instead he just looks forward, at the mugs side by side, almost touching but not quite. Virgil thinks if you turn the blue one just slightly it's handle would reach the other.

"Do you ever have doubts?" Virgil doesn't turn his head, but he looks at Patton out of the corner of his eye. He needs an answer; he can't explain why but he feels that if he just gets an answer to this he'll know what he's supposed to do.

Patton clears his throat but there's tension in his voice when he speaks again, "Well, of course! I have doubts about a lot of things. Like, I doubt that Roman went to bed at a reasonable time last night. I doubt that Logan didn't like Mulan when we watched it. I doubt that–"

"No. No, I meant--" Virgil pauses, carefully choosing his next words, "Do you ever doubt your role in this? Like, as a side?"

Patton takes longer to respond this time and when he does he's much more reserved. "I do, sometimes. I think it's normal too, I think everyone of us doubts what we're supposed to do now and then. We just gotta figure it out, together." 

There's a moment of silence when — "Do you want to stay for dinner?" Patton's normal cheery disposition is back, "We're having meatloaf, and without Roman there it'll be a little quiet."

Virgil turns and smirks at him, "A little?" 

This time, Patton just gives him another smile and says, "That's why you should stay, fill in the gaps." 

God, god Virgil wants to. It takes him by surprise _just_ how much more time he wants to spend with Patton. More than anything but. But it feels like being offered something after he tried to steal it.

"I'll have to pass, I'd make a pretty piss-poor prince replacement." 

Patton gently wacks his shoulder, "Language."

Virgil laughs, "Sorry."

Patton crosses his arms and looks at him, "Now you owe me. I'll see you the next time you're around. For dinner, okay?" 

Virgil's instinct says no instantly, but it's time to be honest, "Yeah, yeah I'll try to be there." 

Patton nods, and smiles. There's something breathtakingly genuine about how he does it. 

—

For all intents and purposes, Virgil sunk out with the plan to head back to his room. He had a long day, and honestly just wanted to go to sleep. There was a lot to think about, and he would rather not. He would greatly prefer turning his brain off for eight or ten hours and pretending this day never happened. 

But something, or, more accurately, everything Patton had said stuck with him. 

" _You'd be surprised._ "

What had he meant by that? Virgil may not be the biggest Princey fan but he is well aware of the guys distaste for him. He's not an idiot, and yet. And yet Patton still had said that. It didn't make sense, Princey didn't like him, and Virgil didn't like Princey. And it's not like either of them hid it very well.

" _You'd be surprised._ "

And that's how he ends up right outside Princey's room. He should knock first, before going in right? His hand hovers right above the door, just inches away from the wood.

Patton arguably knows Princey best, and he isn't the type to push people into doing the wrong thing on purpose but —

Virgil stood a few feet away from Roman just an hour ago while he needed help. He shouldn't do this. He shouldn't just force himself into his life. 

His hand doesn't move away from the door

Virgil should turn around and head home, he doesn't belong here. He should forget this day ever happened and just curl up in bed. He should be annoyed by Princey, frustrated with Deceit, and terrified by Remus but right now he's only doing two of those things anymore. He doesn't know what to do, but he's pretty sure that this isn't it.

" _You'd be surprised._ "

After taking a breath, he steadies himself. Here goes nothing. Virgil knocks twice, knuckles briefly burning from the impact. 

"You don't have to knock, you can't just come—" Virgil opens the door slowly, and watches Roman's face fall. "--in."

There's a momentary pause when both of them freeze and just… look at each other. The moment is over in a second with a blur of motion and the quick flash of a sword.

"Jesus!" Virgil stumbles backwards, almost tripping over his own legs. He lets out a low grumble. "Maybe you and Remus are more alike than I thought."

Roman seems to be trying to push himself out of the bed he was lying in, while holding the weapon in Virgil's general with a shaky arm. "Is that why you came? To do his job for him?"

He's not yelling yet, but he's close to it. He may be almost passing out but he still manages to glare daggers at Virgil. 

Roman pulls his other arm to the sword in an attempt to stabilize it, "Or did you come to watch again?" 

Virgil knows that's fair, that he deserves that, but the part of him that jumps at a fight, that latches on to anyone's insecurities flares up at the chance to pounce.

Roman's words drip with venom, "I'll have you know that I'm not just going to sit back while you -- you _jerks_ hurt me again!"

" _You'd be surprised._ "

Yeah, Patt. The sword was a huge surprise.

"God! No just--" Virgil takes a breath, and steps closer — holding his hands out. "Calm down there, alright? Remus isn't coming, and I _didn't_ come to hurt you."

Roman tilts the blade down a fraction, and narrows his eyes, "...Then _why_ are you here?"

Virgil suppresses an eye roll, could he really not come up with any other reason? "Thanks for the vote of confidence there, chief."

Roman, in contrast, doesn't extend the same courtesy with his eye roll, and levels a look at Virgil that just says: _Really?_

"Can you really blame me, sunshine?"

Virgil guesses he can't, but indignation still flares at the nickname. 

Virgil lets out a snear, "Look, I just came to make sure you didn't kick the bucket. No need to get your Princely panties in a twist." 

Roman gestures to himself with a dramatic flare of his hand, "Well, I'm not dead." 

Virgil smirks in response, "Congratulations."

"Really," Roman glares again, "Why are you here?"

Being honest was a lot easier when it was just with Patton, Virgil finds. Roman is a whole other ball of wax. He makes his way to Roman's bedside as he leans against the wall, looking back at the door, "Well, I know you don't have the brain cells to write a will so I figured I'd come and ransack the place while the gettin's good."

Roman groans as he leans back into his pillows but he keeps a hand on the hilt of his weapon. It does nothing to calm Virgil's nerves but he still can't find it in himself to move away. 

"You can leave, teenage angst. I'm fine."

Virgil manages to keep his cool and just raises an eyebrow, "You sure about that?"

Roman gives a strained smile with an over-exaggerated head nod, "Pretty sure yeah."

Virgil pretends to give him a once over before he points at his leg covered in bandages, "I'm not so sure about that part. I think it's gone necrotic, so that's at least partially dead."

Roman turns to face him and gives Virgil a smirk of his own, "I'm only mostly dead, then. You can still leave, asswipe."

Virgil tilts his head up slightly as he lets out a low whistle, "Better be careful with that kind of language, Princey. Patton might hear."

And the moments gone. It was easily the friendliest conversation they’ve ever had and maybe that’s the problem. They don’t really know how to be nice to each one yet, and both of them aren’t sure if the other even deserves it. They both just stop and look at each other, a silent acknowledgment that this isn’t normal. He's even sure as to why he's doing this, the banter, the riffing, the -- the _whatever_ it was, he just knows he can't stop. He finds it's so easy to slip into it the longer he spends around Roman. He can't decide if he likes it or not yet. 

Apparently Roman isn't in the mood (wonder why) because he lets out a loud huff, "Yeah and what, you know Patton so well now?"

Something about that hits a nerve Virgil didn't know was there because he shoots back way too snappishly, "Maybe I know him better than you'd think."

It must hit a nerve right back because Roman deflates and closes his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah maybe you do." His voice is so quiet that Virgil wonders if he was really meant to hear it. Roman opens them again and looks towards Virgil, "Why are you really here, Anxiety?"

Virgil wants to go back to the banter. It was easy and simple and so much better than this sudden defeat from Roman. Virgil doesn't want to leave but he's not sure he can stay here much longer. He's not sure he can even tell Roman the truth.

" _You'd be surprised._ "

Right, yeah. He looks down at Roman, really looks at him and still manages to be taken aback by what he sees. He has bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, his coat loosely hangs over his shoulders. He has bruises littering his skin, yellows and purples dancing all the way up to his face all the way around his right eye. They're a stark contrast to his paler-than-usual complexion, standing out like ink drops on paper. His leg though, his leg is easily the worst off, wrapped tightly in the same ace bandages as his arm. The only difference would be this one looks like it could use a change. A dull rust color tints the edges where fabric meets skin, almost as a deliberate reminder that refuses to let Virgil forget any detail about today. 

Roman looks awful, probably feels worse and it's all Virgil's fault.

Why _did_ he come here?

"Honestly?" Virgil starts without really knowing where he's going, "I couldn't relax, couldn't eat, without knowing if you were okay or not. I just needed to make sure I didn't get you killed or put in a coma, I guess."

He stands still for a moment, waiting for Roman’s reaction, but when it never comes he gets this horrible clenching feeling in his stomach. Like somehow he just gave himself away and Roman is seeing through a lie that’s not even there. It makes him feel raw and exposed and Virgil gets the sudden, almost painful, urge to run. 

So he does.

Virgil pushes himself off the wall, ignoring how weak his legs suddenly are, and makes for the door. The room seems longer than before, the walls almost stretching around him. His feet slam heavily against the floor as he rushes out, desperate to get away from Roman’s judgement. This — _this_ — is why Virgil avoided him. Why he didn’t like him. Roman would always view himself as a hero, a goddamn knight in shining armor, and Virgil would always be the villain to be overcome. That would always be their roles in Roman’s fantasy. He was so, so stupid for coming here. 

A crash suddenly rings in the background of his mind, and he stops halfway out the door and turns his head a fraction over his shoulder to see Roman flopped almost completely out of his bed. His injured leg is bent at a painful-looking angle, and the bandages around his chest are leaking a dull red where Roman is clutching to them. The blankets tangle around him, successfully restraining Roman to that side of the room. Virgil feels a pang of twisted relief that Roman can’t get to him. He looks up at Virgil, eyes wide with concerned confusion, as he opens his mouth to call out; “Anxiety, wait--”

And with that, Virgil runs.

_Again_.

—

Virgil is running. He’s running straight into Logan. He more collides into him, actually, Virgil's chest smashes up against Logan’s and sends him careening back into the stairs he just came down from. His heart was already caught in his throat and seeing Logan glare down at him did nothing to ease his nerves. 

Virgil can’t move, can’t even speak, all he can do is freeze. He just stares up at him, a deer caught in the headlights waiting for the inevitable crash of a metaphorical car. 

Instead of an explosion, Logan leans down and picks up his glasses that were knocked off. “Oh, Anxiety. It’s you.”

Virgil bristles, frayed nerves easily rising to aggravation. Easily rising to whatever challenge is presented. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He snaps back.

Logan adjusts his glasses and looks down at the black binder in his hand, flipping through the pages, “Precisely what I said. It’s you, as opposed to any of the others.” He pauses, face scrunching up at something written in the pages. When he looked up again his eyebrows raised half a fraction, as if surprised that Virgil was still sitting on the steps in front of him. “You should really watch where you’re going.”

“And what about you, huh? You ran into me too.” Virgil knows that it’s a stretch, but he’s on edge. Half of him is convinced that Roman is going to sprint out of his room after him and reveal him for the monster Virgil knows himself to be, and he has to physically resist the urge to turn around and check.

Logan flips another page before he adjusts his glasses and doesn’t even bother looking up this time, “Yes, but you quite literally ran. Where were you headed, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I _do_ mind.” Virgil bites out, jumping up and pushing past him, “I was just leaving.” 

“So you weren’t provoking Roman just now, then?” 

Virgil feels heat rush to his cheats as his chest constricts painfully. Shit, _shit,_ what’s Logan gonna do once he finds out? Virgil ran out of there while Roman laid on the ground bleeding. He did the exact thing he came to apologize for all over again, not a great look. 

He turns around, “How did you--”

Logan holds a hand up, “I heard the crash.” He lets out a small sigh, “It’s just as well, I suppose. He’d find a way to pull his stitches eventually.” 

He sounds exasperated and maybe even _concerned_. It doesn’t seem like something he'd normally say and that softens the image Virgil holds of him in his mind a little. 

It only lasts for a moment before it’s swiftly replaced by annoyance, "Of course none of this would be a problem if he would understand that he can't _actually_ get hurt." 

Virgil tenses, “Seemed like he got hurt back there pretty badly.”

“Well, yes of course it _seems_ like that,” Logan gives a little flick of his hand, “but we’re imaginary. Nothing that happens to us actually happens.” 

“That seems over simplifying it, though.” Virgil feels the familiar spikes of irritation begin to build. “I mean Princy just got his ass handed to him, that can’t be an -- an act or whatever.”

He stops himself from saying anything else, not sure why he's even defending Roman. He just feels a weird, malformed obligation to.

“Obviously it’s not an act, that implies it’s intentional. It’s all subconscious, a personification of his fear in Remus, oh the wonders of the imaginative mind," Logan shrugs, like he's not talking about one of his close friends.

Maybe they're not friends. 

“If we’re quite done here,” Logan starts to push past Virgil, and toward the stairs. “But I need to go over the latest video draft with Roman.”

Virgil casts his gaze downwards, the conversation doing something funny to him. He was feeling off before and this just piles on to the swirling wave of emotions stirring inside him. "Aren't you worried about him?"

Logan hums, pausing his movement “Not particularly, he'll pull around. It's not like he can die."

"How can you say that?" Virgil pulls at his jacket sleeves, eyes still downcast.

"It's not real, Anxiety." Logan, careful indifference never wavering.

"But it's real to him!" Virgil feels the tell tale signs of desperation sinking in. His face heats up and his heart skips a beat. Logan has to give a shit, he has to. It's not fair of him to write off all the pain Roman is in as an over active imagination. 

Logan looks up, bored. "That doesn't change the fact that we aren't." He tilts his head slightly, making the light bounce off his glasses. "Didn't you have something to do?"

It deflates Virgil quicker than anything else could have. He sighs, "Leaving, I was leaving."

He goes to push past Logan when he sees a book on the counter. 

_The Complete Works of Shakespeare_.

Huh, Patton must have forgotten it.

Well, shit. 

The same, odd sense of obligation rears its ugly head. He can't just _leave_ that there. He has to bring it up. He has to, owes it to Patton or -- or something. 

He walks over to the counter, feeling Logan's eyes on him the entire time. Virgil carefully picks up the book, mindful to not lose its place. He spins around on his heel and trots back up the stairs, pretending the whole time to not notice the look Logan's giving when Virgil hears him clear his throat, "What happened to leaving?"

Virgil swallows, hand stuck on the railing — clinging too tight. He looks down at the book.

"I've got something to do first."

-

Virgil walks as soft as his combat boots will allow and tries to ignore the heavy echoing that his steps cause. He slows once he nears the door, hand hesitating as he notices that it's open just a crack. 

He hears a hiss of pain with soft, pacifying apologies in response. 

Roman's voice filters in through the gap, "It's not your fault, Padrè. I got a little overzealous."

"Doesn't mean I'm less sorry, kiddo. Here let me just — okay! There we go, that should hold, as long as you can promise average amounts of zealous." Virgil can hear the small smile in Patton's voice and it makes him ache for something, though he's not sure why.

"When have I given average amounts of anything?" Roman laughs, a small broken sound. Neither of the two acknowledge it.

The voices die off, left with the expected white noise of a mostly empty house. He can hear sheets rustling, figures adjusting their posture and the occasional whisper. Virgil figures now is a good time as any and pushes the door slightly more open; widening the crack as quietly as possible.

Now, he can clearly see Patton on the edge of the bed. Mostly sitting up as he rests against the headboard, an arm across Roman's shoulder. Roman, on the other hand, is smooshed up against Patton's chest, his cheek squished against the others shirt. 

Patton's voice is soft but Virgil can just almost make out words being whispered as Patton moves his hand rhythmically through Roman's hair. They haven't noticed Virgil, and he can't help but feel a spike of embarrassment at seeing this incredibly private moment. 

Roman breaks the silence, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Patton says, if a little shakily, "You've got nothing to be sorry about." 

Roman shakes his head, "I do though. I should've -- _shouldn't_ have—" He gives a small gesture with his hand, "—done what I did."

"You didn't do _anything_." There's urgency in Patton's voice, an almost frantic attempt for something that Virgil can't quite grasp. 

"That's the problem!" Roman snaps and Virgil flinches back, cringing at the noise. "I just stood there and took it!" 

"Roman." Patton shifts until he has both hands on Roman's face, "Roman _, Roman_." 

There's a beat, a moment of hesitation before Roman is pushing forward, melting into the contact. His hands rest on Patton's arms, holding them both together. 

Patton's voice is hardly audible when he speaks next, "Tell me what's wrong Roman, let me help." 

The noise that comes from Roman is a hushed, defeated sound, "I'm scared."

"I don't," He takes a moment, and leans further against Patton, resting more of his weight on the other. "I don't want to let you down." 

Virgil feels his chest tighten, sympathy rushing through him. He gets that. Understands it, _him_ , to a shocking amount. It freaks him out a little how much he reminds Virgil of himself. 

"Roman, you could never let me down," Patton's voice is full of warmth and admiration but there's a tinge of something else lying beneath it. A desperate edge to his words. "So stop leaving me out of this, because I'll always be here Roman, so be here with me. I -- I miss you."

"I'm right here," Roman's voice is laced with confusion but he doesn't pull away.

"It doesn't feel like it," There's a break in Patton's voice, almost imperceptible. "I, I just need you to let me help. Please." 

Roman shifts, arms wrapping around Patton as he pulls him into a hug. "I'm right here," he repeats, but the meanings changed. It's a concession, an admittance of guilt but it's not a promise. It's a compromise.

Virgil clears his throat and knocks gently on the door, watching as the two figures flinch. Roman puts distance between him and Patton quickly, eyes lighting up as he recognizes who's in the door. A small smile graces Patton's lips as he lets out a muted, "Anxiety."

Virgil taps the book against his leg; the embarrassment of having heard everything finally setting in. Their reactions confirm the emotions behind it. He clears his throat again before he speaks, awkwardly, "Don't stop on my account, I just came to drop off a book."

Roman's shoulders tense, "So you’ve taken to spying on me then, have you."

Indignation flares sharply, "Oh don't flatter yourself, I just heard this was yours." 

"Figure that one out all on your own, Nancy Drew?" Roman shoots him a half-smile, all that annoying confidence back in full swing, and Virgil can't help but find himself begrudgingly reassured. 

"You're not as complex as your ego let's you believe." He walks over and thrusts the book forward. Roman doesn't take it, and Virgil wonders if he's imagining the tension rise.

"Did your sleuthing give you that impression?" Roman says leaning forward, and resting his arm on top of his knee. While Patton, behind him, gives up a sheepish smile. A small, "Whatcha gonna do?", look about him. 

Virgil shakes the book in front of Roman, annoyance steadily growing with every word that leaves the idiots mouth. "Take it," he glares down at him as Roman's arms still don't move to grab it.

Roman deflates slightly, and Virgil's frayed nerves start to fire. Oh god. That means emotions are coming. When Roman speaks again there's an accusation hidden in his words, "Why are you back? You bolted the last time I saw you."

"I'm here to return a book." 

"I'm not a library." He snaps, before he exhales, and lets up a little, "You left. You ran away."

There's a sharp twinge of guilt in Virgil's chest that builds into his throat. He thinks he's going to be sick. His eyes shoot to Patton before he looks at the ground, "You wanted me gone."

Roman's eyes widen before he looks away, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did." He spreads his fingers against the bedspread, not making eye contact. Though, even with him not looking up Virgil notices the pink tinting his cheeks, "but then I wanted you back." 

Vigil's whole body goes rigid as his entire face feels like a thousand degrees. "Well. I'm back."

He glanced up, down, and then up again. "I hadn't noticed." 

It's textbook deflection, but there's none of the usual bite behind it. Roman isn't even looking at him, and they both are so clearly uncomfortable but this is the most genuine the guy has ever been with Virgil. It's the most present Virgil has ever seen him, because despite him not looking at Virgil, despite him being drawn into himself, despite there being another person in the room; he's not sporting twenty layers of bullshit hubris and is just talking to him. 

It doesn't help Virgil's cheeks calm down. "Just take the fricken book." 

Roman reaches for it but instead of taking it he just pushes it closer to Virgil. "Keep it, I don't want your cooties." 

Virgil chokes back a gasp, feeling weirdly betrayed, "You're kidding me." He shakes his head, "After all that you try and make me keep the book? Are you hardwired to screw me over, to be a jerk?" 

"Hey!" Roman says, raising his voice to match Virgil's tone, "If anything I'm helping you! I'm educating you to the classics, exposing you to actual culture." 

"Oh, is _that_ what you're doing. I couldn't tell!" He steps back and runs a hand through his hair, _This guy is trying to fuck with him._ He looks back down and notices how Roman seems tense, frustrated, and some other third thing but not actually annoyed or disgusted. The blush has reached his ears, and his whole body is fidgety. 

Oh.

He's embarrassed.

Virgil stops in his tracks and looks down at the book in his hand, finally catching on. It's an apology.

He runs his hands over the worn material belonging to the front cover. The silver, raised letters of the title bumpy against his fingertips. It's old, somehow, even though it isn't even a real book. Even though Roman could make it good as new, he doesn't. He keeps it as is and that gives Virgil the sinking impression that it's more than a book, it means something. It means more than an apology, it's a gift. A peace offering. 

Virgil feels his eyes grow wet as his throat tightens. He's holding the book with both hands now, refusing to meet Roman's eyes. He lets out a rough, "Thanks." 

Roman nods, "Now we're even." 

Virgil looks up, because wow, what a stupid response, and he catches Patton's eye.

_You'd be surprised_.

Virgil looks away again, "I should, uh, probably head out." 

"Right, 'course." Roman whole demeanor changes, "Don't expect me to be this nice when we bump into each other next." 

"That a date?" Virgil says, easily falling back into the expected banter.

"In your dreams, stalker." Roman's smirking at him, arms crossed. But his eyes are warmer than they normally are around Virgil. 

It makes his heart do something funny in his chest and makes him want to really take Patton up on his offer.

Next to Roman, Patton gives a short wave. "See ya soon, Anxiety!" 

Roman scoffs, "I hope we're not that unlucky." 

Patton smacks his arms lightly, a muffled, "Be nice," under his breath. 

Roman rotates and shoots back, "This is me being nice!"

Virgil lets out a small huff of laughter, and turns on his heel to leave. But just before he does he notices those two mugs on the nightstand. The same ones from the kitchen that Patton had grabbed except now they're close together — the handles finally touching. It weirdly makes Virgil want a mug of his own. It makes him want to deserve one, and be able to put it next to theirs.

All of this, this whole day, makes Virgil want to stay. He wants to live here with them and deserve it, and isn’t that insane? A month ago, heck, an _hour_ ago he hated them and now? Now he wants to be able to laugh with Patton without the guilt of it all; to joke with Roman without feeling like he's betrayed some moral code.

He wants to be better; for them. For himself. 

He looks back down at the book in his hands and thinks he might just be able to do it. He might just be able to figure out how.

"See you soon."

-

Coming back to his own living room has never felt like a bigger blow then it does now. He lets out a heavy sigh, the weight of the whole afternoon finally piling on to his shoulders.

His head swivels the room, making sure he's alone as his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Once he's sure he's alone, he relaxes slightly and looks down at the book he's holding — halfway afraid it disappeared into the night. Roman's gift seems to weigh more, heavier in his hands and courser on his skin. Still, Virgil doesn't want to set it down. He absentmindedly flips through a few pages before he starts to head towards his room when a previously unseen figure from the kitchen clears his throat. 

"Anxiety, you're back." Virgil flinches, body going rigid and stiff where he stands. "And here I was thinking you left us for good." 

He can hear the smirk in the words without even looking at Deceit and it makes him want to scream. "I even started planning to turn your room into a gym." 

"What do you want?" Virgil says, hopping the defeated feeling doesn't sink into his words. 

Deceit suddenly stands from his chair, causing it to squeal across the tile. He turns his back to Virgil, hands on the table as he does something hard to parse in the dark room. "An apology, for starters. You touched my cards."

"Are you kidding me?" Virgil rubs his eyes with one hand, wanting desperately to go to bed. 

Deceit turns away, and heads over to the sink before he faces Virgil again, dumping something down the drain. "The very least you could do is not make me clean up your dirty dishes. Your frosted flakes got soggy."

Virgil bites back a groan at how staged this whole argument feels and turns to leave, "I'm really not in the mood for this."

"You're not in a mood for this? You were gone for hours Virgil— you didn't write, you didn't call." He spins back around resting all his weight against the counter "I was worried about you." He says in a voice that implies anything but.

"But you've never said sorry before so why start now, right? What's a little animosity between friends." 

His voice is sickly sweet, Virgil feels sick to his stomach. "We _aren't_ friends." 

"Of course we aren't," Deceit's voice loses its usual lofty tone, and hits a deeper note. "But do you really think that you'll ever make friends with them? You think they'll ever really accept you? You'd have to lie to them about everything, every little thing you've ever done and then what? You just get to hold hands and sing kumbaya. Are you really that _stupid_?" 

"Stop." Virgil hisses, emotion making the word almost physically hurt. He takes a step back, fight or flight screaming at him to flee. To get away.

Deceit holds his hands up, voice back to it's regular octave, "Relax." He says simply, like Virgil is the one overreacting and the worst part is — he isn't sure. Virgil never is when it comes to Deceit. "But do you really think they'd ever want you there?"

Virgil barely has to think about the answer when he replies, "You'd be surprised."


End file.
